


wolfhound

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Skye | Daisy Johnson/Grant Ward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 08:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17742686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: It’s been one of those days, the ones that leave Grant wondering if it’s even worth fighting this war anymore.





	wolfhound

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [a lamb for a rose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521147) by [jdphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix). 



> Written for two prompts: AU of my _a lamb_ 'verse and one character touching the other's face. Both given by shineyma.
> 
> As you can see this is an AU of my fic 'a lamb for a rose.' While this fic does take place prior to the original, I didn't make any effort to set up the wider universe here. If you'd like a more ~elegant set-up I suggest making a detour over to the original but if you really don't want to bother or you know you read the original but only vaguely remember it, the basic premise is that the explosion at the end of s3 sent Hive back in time to the 1940s. From there he set about trying to take over the world and more than fifty years later the ensuing war between Hydra and SHIELD is still raging.

Grant’s lucky. The lab’s deserted when he gets downstairs. Probably means Lincoln and Simmons were in their bunks to hear him in the bathroom so he counts himself doubly lucky neither of them came to check on him.

It’s been one of those days, the ones that leave Grant wondering if it’s even worth fighting this war anymore. Everyone’s tense, everyone’s stressed, and that’s not gonna change when they get to … Grant doesn’t know where they’re going.

He chuckles to himself. That’s how fucking bad things have gotten. He didn’t even bother to find out where May’s flying them to.

But he sure as hell doesn’t want to deal with medical when they get there so he hurries to finish cleaning up his hand. Once the blood’s cleared away, it’s not so bad. There’s a stray piece of glass he’s gotta pluck from his skin, but it’s superficial. A couple bandages and he’s good to go.

He’s just considering whether he’s got enough control right now to only use his left hand at the punching bag when he hears it. Short and soft, like somebody tried to pull it back a second too late, comes a gasp from the back. From the pitch, there’s only one person it can be.

He sighs and makes sure he’s cleared away the bloody mess he made before he calls, “Simmons.”

Her eyes are red when she steps out from the shadows at the back of the lab and she keeps a hand at her mouth to muffle more unintended noises. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t-” She sighs and looks up towards the ceiling. “I didn’t want anyone to hear me.”

He gets that and he’s sorry for breaking into her solitude instead of just walking away. Now he has though, he opens his arms in offer. It says a lot about how much today sucks that she doesn’t hesitate to rush into them.

She shakes and sniffles, leaving his shirt wet. He runs a hand over her hair and grits his teeth. He won’t offer her empty promises. Much as he wishes different, things _won’t_ be okay. Just like he couldn’t protect Daisy today, the day’ll come when he’ll fail to protect everyone else. Fitz and Hannah and Coulson and May. They’re all gonna be lost to this war, one way or another. But here and now, he feels like maybe he can protect Simmons if he can just keep holding her like this.

He focuses on her. The warmth of her body against his, the wet sound of her breathing, the flex of her fingers in his shirt, the smell of sweat and earth from that tumble she took—and that was _before_ everything went FUBAR. So long as he’s thinking about her, he doesn’t have to think about the rest of it. The mission. The failure. The man they lost.

Soon enough her breathing evens out and she makes a faint note of protest. Nothing angry, just a sign she’s ready to be let go.

He doesn’t. His arms won’t open. Not that he tries all that hard to tell them to.

She tips her head back and she’s so close now he can see the scar hiding beneath her eyebrow, remnant of a close call that might’ve cost her the eye. “Not that I mind a good hug—heaven knows we both need a little comfort after today—but how long were you planning on this one lasting?”

He considers carefully, mindful of his earlier conviction that she’s safe here with him. “Hm, forever?”

“Ward!” she laughs. She tries to pull away and he should probably let her. He knows it’s not feasible, the keeping hold of her for the rest of her life thing, but the idea of letting her go and feeling that emptiness in his arms where a person used to be… It makes him sick just thinking about it.

Her hair’s in disarray, wisps pulled free of the simple tie at the back of her neck are flying every which way. He brushes some aside, behind her ear, and the simple movement stills her instantly.

“Ward-”

She’s looking at him and he knows what she’s thinking. He’s thinking it too. How could he not when she’s warm and soft in his arms? And it’ll keep her there a little longer, so he lets himself do the stupid thing and bends down to press his lips to hers.

She hesitates, even though she was just wondering if he’d do it or not. But then she’s just so _Simmons_ and she pushes into it with everything she’s got. She’s as desperate for this as he is and it shows in the hips rocking into his, the moan caught in her throat, the arm she wraps around his neck for a better angle. The height difference is definitely aggravating the bruise that’s spreading across his left side. So he fixes the problem by lifting her right off her feet and onto the lab bench beside him. Her hands cup his face and his cup her hips and his mind’s ten steps ahead in a place with their clothes on the floor and nothing’s separating them.

But she pulls back.

“Mm, Ward.” She’s breathing heavy, eyes closed, still lost in the moment. He tries to pull her back into it with him but she won’t let him. “You’re in love with Daisy.”

It hits him like a bucket of cold water. He can only shake his head in answer.

She draws her fingers down his face. He doesn’t think of Simmons as rough but there are calluses on her fingers. Softer than his but rough enough he feels the faint pressure down to his already straining cock.

Her own feelings are so obvious on her face it makes him feel like a heel and dampens his growing desire. Simmons has been crushing on him for ages. He’s always known it, but he thought she’d get over it. Move on to some other tall, dark, and handsome specialist like Trip or, if the stars aligned just right, she might even notice Fitz’s crush on her and take pity on him. Grant should’ve known better than to start things with her, give her false hope, and it’s only his dumb luck that _she_ has the common sense to end it before it carries them both away.

He knows he should take advantage of the out, get some space and give her hers. But his arm has snaked its way around her waist without permission, again refusing to let her go, and he’s too damn selfish to do anything about it.

“You are,” she says, quiet and sure, with just enough emotional detachment he knows it kills her. “And you’re hurting because she’s- because Hive-”

She bites her lip and looks away, tears filling her eyes again. He brushes at them with his thumb.

Hive was there. On their mission. Their intel said he was halfway around the world but he _wasn’t_ and all he had to do was wave his hand at Daisy and that was it. She smiled at him like he hung the damn stars and then turned her gun on Grant.

He brainwashed her, same as he does all the Inhumans unlucky enough to get near him. It’s bad enough that now he’s got access to everything she knew—she was closer to Coulson than just about anyone aside from May—but on top of that it’s _Daisy_. Grant can’t count the number of people who will be devastated by this news. Their side took a huge hit today, worse than any land grab Hive’s made in the last half century.

“That’s over,” Grant says.

Simmons’ attention snaps back to him. “We’re going to get her _back_ ,” she says in that same tone she uses when Calderon is being especially dense.

“I know,” he lies because arguing with her won’t do either of them any good. “But she’s in love with Lincoln.”

Simmons shifts uncomfortably on the table and Grant isn’t a good enough person he doesn’t use the excuse to pull her closer. “She likes both of you.” She says it soft, like a secret. And it probably is. Daisy and Simmons are so close more than one agent’s quietly asked Grant if Cal is Jemma’s father too.

Grant feels a little elation at the confession, but he tamps it down quickly. “Maybe,” he says, voice thick. “But she’s been enslaved by the Hive.”

“That doesn’t-”

“He looks _just like me_ , Jemma.”

She stares at him, stricken. He doesn’t walk it back. Ever since he appeared out of nowhere fifty years ago, Hive has looked exactly the same. And, it turns out, exactly like Grant does now. No one knows why, least of all Grant himself, and he’s spent countless nights sitting up, puzzling over what it means, what it makes him. But no matter what caused this connection between them, there is no way that, in the miraculous event they do free Daisy—something scientists have been trying to do literally longer than Grant’s been alive—she’s gonna feel the same way about him that she did just a few hours ago. He’s got the face of the guy who enslaved her, who’s making her do who knows what right now. Grant won’t be surprised if Daisy can’t even stand to  _look_ at him anymore; days like today he can’t even look at himself.

He brushes at Simmons’ hair again. “Daisy and I are done,” he says, more gently than he did before. “And like you said, we both need some comfort today. So tell me you don’t want this.”

Her breath catches and he draws his thumb down the column of her throat to coax it out. It’s an unfair demand, he knows. She _does_ want this. But if she tells him she doesn’t, he’ll back off no question. He just needs to hear her say it.

She takes his hand between hers, sighs onto his stinging knuckles. Her lips brush over his tender skin and the bandages he applied just a few minutes ago. Her eyes are downcast, hiding her thoughts from him. He wonders if next time she uses the bathroom she’ll realize he’s the one who broke the mirror. Will she think of this moment? Will she regret the choice she makes now?

Finally she lifts her face. His gut clenches at her downtrodden expression.

“There’s only one thing I want more.” Her voice, on the verge of cracking, just begs him to kiss her again, to hold her in his arms and make her forget, keep her safe.

He swears he will or die trying.

 


End file.
